


The Calusari

by leiascully



Series: The FBI's Most Unwanted [49]
Category: The X-Files
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Child Death, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-24
Updated: 2016-09-24
Packaged: 2018-08-17 02:58:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8127737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leiascully/pseuds/leiascully
Summary: He wondered if Charlie felt the loss of Michael the way he has felt, every day, the loss of Samantha.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Timeline: 2.21 "The Calusari"  
> Disclaimer: _The X-Files_ and all related characters are the property of Chris Carter, 1013 Productions, and Fox Studios. No profit is made from this work and no infringement is intended.

Neither innocence nor vigilance might be protection against the howling heart of evil. He knew it long before the Calusari ever told him. It was a hard truth he'd learned one gloomy night in November, when fear had cracked the edges of his vision like ice and made him nothing more than a stone-still witness. His sister had been innocent. He had been vigilant. And yet. 

He wondered if Charlie felt the loss of Michael the way he has felt, every day, the loss of Samantha. He wondered if there were any ritual that might fill that gap or debride that wound. The jagged incision of his grief was still raw, even after twenty years; he knew Scully thought him at risk for some sort of spiritual gangrene. Maybe the Old Country held the secret to his renewal, the way it had for Charlie. He imagined Scully learning to twist her tongue around Slavic words, around incantations passed down by those who had grown up in the shadow of mountains and valleys where ancient evils haunted the dark trees. He would submit to any ritual as long as she were the one conducting it. The touch of her cool hand on his brow might be absolution enough. 

Mulder sighed and shuffled the pages of his report back into the file folder. Whatever had happened, it was over. He hoped the family would heal after the loss of their youngest child, and the unearthing of their oldest, who might have lain forever undiscovered in his quiet grave. He almost wished Samatha would haunt him, smashing his furniture at night and whistling in his ear. At least he would know. 

He slipped the file into the cabinet, sparing one last thought for the Holveys and their losses. The best that he could offer them was an "unsolved" stamp on the bottom of the page, the possibility that there was some supernatural explanation for their child's murderous rages. He knew better than anyone that was tenuous comfort, but maybe not knowing was better than knowing. At least there were still some dregs of hope, however bitter, that things could return to some simulacrum of normalcy, reconstituted from memory, watery and tepid. 

The drawer, when he slid it closed, crashed into place like a coffin lid. Mulder shrugged on his jacket and left, imagining the pages and pages of unresolved cases whispering like leaves in the dark office, their secrets untranslatable.


End file.
